


Secretly

by edka88



Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 14:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2154123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edka88/pseuds/edka88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas is approaching, and Christine takes one last attempt to call forth her silent Angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secretly

"I know you've heard everything I told you."

As expected, no answer came and Christine sighed. He hadn't said anything during the long minutes she was talking to him, nor did he give any sign that he had been there at all.

Weeks had passed since they had last spoken to each other and regret was slowly eating away every other emotion in her. Christmas was approaching with all of its warmth and joy, she was surrounded by people and even had a suitor yet she had never felt more alone. She wanted to talk – but there was no one who could possibly understand why she would mourn the loss of a disfigured murderer.

At first, she too was horrified to realize that she missed him: the tragedy at Il Muto happened only two weeks prior and she refused to speak with him ever since then. Then later it turned out that he refused to speak as well. Occasionally she talked to him in the hope he might show up but he didn't even answer her.

She was furious.

At first: because of the murder; and then later because of his silence, too. And knowing that contrary to all of that she still longed for his presence didn't help, either.

Then even more weeks passed and her anger dissolved with her growing worries. She still talked to him sometimes – and he still didn't respond.

Then there was Raoul.

It was really hard to think of him without that sad kind of disappointment now. He'd been really supportive and compassionate when that terrible incident happened, but after her first shock wore off she realized that nothing changed. He was polite, considerate – and he annoyed her to no end with his kindness.

It was really difficult to like someone, after all, when they constantly thought you're dealing with a mild case of dementia. Why on Earth was he so plainly fond of her then was beyond her. It was his idea, too, for her to spend the holiday with him, and he asked so nicely and was so confident about her answer that in the end she didn't have the heart to refuse his invitation.

Which also meant that _he_ would be left on his own.

"I didn't want you to spend the Christmas all alone," she told to the mirror. It didn't answer and she tried to breathe through the lump in her throat. "I hoped you'd come out to say goodbye at least."

Still nothing.

Taking a step to the side she lifted her gloves from the vanity, then pulled them on. "I will be staying at Raoul's place for the holiday," she informed him resignedly, then cast one last glance at the mirror in the hope of finding him there. Only her own image, clad in her familiar light blue winter coat was looking back at her. "Good bye," she whispered to the glass.

\- o -

Something was weighing her down.

Every time she took a breath – it was there. Her duvet used to be a lot less constraining.

It felt somehow nice, though, she mused, still in a pleasant half-asleep hovering. It was very warm and its touch on her skin softer than any of her blankets before. And it was warm. Warmth was good.

Slowly she became aware of warmth spreading across her face, too, caressing her cheeks in wave after wave, sweeping across her lips… It was really soothing… but then the waves came faster and faster and their consoling calmness was quickly gone; then she became aware of some uneasiness somewhere around her stomach – tremors.

The warmth on her chest was trembling.

The pleasant almost-asleep fog now dissolved around her she realized that the warmth expanded all the way down on her body. And was more and more troublesome with every breath she took.

"Christine, I'm so…"

At the voice she opened her eyes – green eyes were looking back at her.

Air stopped in her lungs for a moment as she stared up at him and it seemed he wasn't breathing, either. In his eyes she saw her own spellbound expression, staring up at him.

Erik was the warmth. He was lying on her, and…

_Oh._

She swallowed.

He was much closer than that.

It all came back slowly – his cape swishing to the side as the mirror slid closed behind him, the lamplight glinting on his mask… Then there was the yelling at each other; a warm wave of air caressing her face with his scent as she stepped closer to him, his trembling lips against hers…

And she also knew she wasn't a maiden anymore.

"Please, don't scream," he said hurriedly, his voice no more than a breathless moving of lips.

Cold ran down on her spine at his tone. "I didn't want to," she whispered back. He was literally shaking against her.

Making her very much aware of how _close_ he was to her still.

There was a hitch in his breathing right before she saw his face crumple, then a long shudder ran through his body that jolted her as well, and she sucked on her next intake of breath. It didn't really hurt, exactly, but the stretching was still very unfamiliar, and the silence around them made it only worse. It was hard to feel it comfortable when he was clearly not enjoying it, either.

She drew in a slow breath, trying to stop the tremors that were now somehow extended to her body as well.

With the next breath she shifted her hips to the side, just a little, only to ease the tension; at the same time he lifted himself on his elbows and in the next moment he was already settled beside her. The quick movement _did_ hurt now and it must have shown on her face as well because a wince ghosted over his features – he reached out towards her but his arm stopped and fell before he could touch her.

"I'm sorry," he wheezed, glancing up into her eyes then looking away quickly. His hand trembled as it pulled the blanket – his coat, she realized – a little upwards to cover his bare chest. "Christine, I…"

The next breath quivered in her throat as she cut him off. "I'm fine," she told him and he ventured another glance in her eyes.

She shuddered.

She had never seen that look before. It was distant and anxious and uncertain…

Air left her lungs in a rush.

He was afraid. She had never seen him afraid before. He had never let her see him being afraid before.

She tried to take an even breath.

"What is it?" She asked him at last, flinching as he started from her soft voice.

"I didn't want to…" He trailed off, his eyes flitting over her covered frame. "…hurt you."

"Somebody would have had to anyway, eventually," she told him carefully. "I'm glad it was you," she added with a small smile.

His shoulders slumped at her words, though, and he scampered into a sitting position without any trace of his usual gracefulness. The coat pooled around his waist when he let go of it; his trembling hand covered his face first, then a moment later moved to rake through his disheveled hair. Her ears began to burn: she was the reason why it was so tangled.

He let out an uneven sigh that resonated in an uneasy quiver around her stomach.

"What is it?" She asked him again, sitting up as well to look into his eyes, her fingers curling into the coat for cover.

Slowly his eyes lifted from the floor to look at her. "I didn't want to know what I would be missing," he murmured and suddenly it was very difficult to breathe through the lump in her throat as the room swayed in front of her eyes. Yesterday he told her that he loved her – and she told him she loved him, too. They didn't really speak about the future – but she thought that the words meant that they were to be married. Why would he miss…

Her throat tightened with the possible explanation.

"I'm not going anywhere, Erik," she told him softly. A long shiver shook his frame when she spoke his name and his head moved from side to side.

"I will not stop you should you choose to leave. I have no excuses for what happened."

"You don't need any!" She crawled closer to him until her knees touched his thigh, uncaring about how the coat slid down on her body and revealed her bare breasts. He blinked a couple of times at that, probably to stop his eyes before they could stray too far downwards on her and she let out a wavering breath. He'd seen so much more a couple of hours ago yet now… Her arm lifted with the intention to touch his hand but she ended up reaching for his face instead. "I _wanted_ to be with you," she told him.

Beneath her palm, he shivered. "Christine, I love you." It came out as a broken whisper.

"I love you, too," she smiled, rising on her knees to wind her arms around his neck. In the next moment his arms were around her, too, their heat warming her naked back from the chill in the room. His body was pressed against her, fitting to her front in all the right places, his chest moving with his uneven breaths against her own and she sunk into his embrace even deeper. A moment later one of his hands slid a little down and then up on her back, as if in a hesitant caress, and she sighed into his neck.

She closed her eyes, marveling in all the sensations swirling around her.

It was the same. The same leisurely bliss and contentment she'd felt last night. His arms around her, his warm breath on her nape, fingers brushing occasional caresses on her back… She'd never felt so close to another person before and it was not just because of their shared intimacy. It was a strange, rare kind of safe feeling when he was holding her, like finding something she'd been forever waiting for without even knowing what it was. It was delightful.

His arms tightened their hold around her.

"I'm not going anywhere," she repeated, sweeping a caress down on his back.

"I thought you'll regret it," he whispered.

Her heart hammered in her throat. "Because of your face?"

"And because I'm a murderer."

She let out an uneven sigh. Last night he wanted her to leave because of that. After all the yelling and shouting, after she told him that she was very much aware of how Joseph Buquet died – he told her to leave. There was no begging, no extorting, no trying to hold her back; he wasn't even facing her. Should he have she wouldn't have lingered for so long behind his back and most probably that was exactly why he had turned away.

He was crying.

When she came around him she saw the tears immediately but by then her choice was already made. She kissed him – but he didn't respond, instead he mumbled something about leaving, waiting for her to do so but his eyes straying to her lips nonetheless. A moment later she kissed him again, and this time, he didn't protest.

"I don't regret any moment of it," she said, pressing a kiss to his skin beneath her lips.

"Marry me," she heard his faint voice, muffled by her curls.

"Yes," she breathed.

"What? No!" He pulled back, shivering again. "You… you cannot."

"Why? You don't have a ring?" She ventured, smiling a little.

"It's in my pocket. In my trousers," he admitted with a sigh, looking away from her to the side. "Wherever they may be."

"I think I dropped them somewhere behind the sofa," she said, feeling heat creeping up into her cheeks. Thankfully, he probably missed it as he was reaching out to retrieve the mentioned object, rummaging through its pockets until he came up with a small box. Her heart jumped into her throat. "Since when do you have it?" She asked, her lips suddenly dry.

"I've bought it about a year ago."

 _Oh._ Air left her lungs in a rush. "You've been carrying it around for _a year_?"

"Yes."

"What is it, then? You already know my answer," she told him gently.

The ring twirled between his fingers. "I wanted you to have a choice," he told her at last.

"I did have a choice," she answered and the ring stopped moving momentarily. "And I chose you."

Somehow the ring was transported to her finger but she couldn't really tell how, and she faintly remembered drawing another ring on his finger, too; then his lips was on hers, breathing there a kiss as if he didn't kiss every single inch of her body hours before. She reached for his hair, shivering a little upon figuring out that she _knew_ what she was doing, and he came even closer, his hairy legs brushing against her thighs. Slowly, as if asking for permission he tried to deepen the kiss and she gladly indulged him, oddly proud at him for taking the lead though she was well aware of how unsure he was in fact.

Afterwards, he rested his face against her temple, his breaths blowing at her curls behind her ear and tickling her nape a little.

"Let me dream a little longer," he told her after a while, caressing a long path down on her back.

"This is no dream, Erik." She giggled. "I doubt we'll be naked in a moment like this."

The slow movement of his hand stopped on her back. "Christine, you deserve so much better than being taken on the floor."

"I wouldn't change a thing," she replied. "It was perfect. I don't mind it was spontaneous. All the girls who were planning before their firsts, well… most of them were deeply disappointed in the end."

He was silent for a very long while.

"Does it still hurt?" He asked her then.

"A little. I'll be fine." She smiled into his neck, grateful how he couldn't see another blush starting on her cheeks. "You've been very considerate."

He gave a short, nervous laugh. "I hardly knew what I was doing."

"Well, it still worked," she chuckled. His fingers were caressing her back again and a pleasant shiver ran down on her spine in return. "I'm sorry I wasn't more attentive, though. It was your first, too."

A short wave of hot air hit the back of her shoulder. "It was quite memorable, I assure you," he said breathlessly, pressing a timid kiss behind her ear and she was almost surprised as a moan escaped her lips.

It was new. And unfamiliar and so far away from what was considered proper and becoming – and in spite of all, she felt no shame. She was nervous and a little bit embarrassed but that was all. Being with him gave her that strange, warm feeling she had had upon waking up but this time it stayed with her; and she had no idea how she could live without that for so long.

When at last he pulled back from her, the chill in the room once again attacked her skin.

"Are you not cold?" He asked her, running his hands up on her arms.

"A little," she admitted, noticing only now how cold the room was indeed.

Without taking his eyes off of her he reached out to the side, and his hand came back with some white material – his shirt, it turned out.

"I fear my jacket is a lot farther," he said while draping the garment across her back. It smelled of him and she took a deep breath from the scent. "We should leave now," he added softly.

"It's too late to return to the dormitories. All the doors must be closed by now," she answered and stayed as she was, unmoving.

"I can let you in, if you wish," he offered, but from his tone it was clear that he wasn't very keen on the idea. To be honest, neither was she.

"No, I…" She fell silent, looking up into his eyes, just to make certain he mean what she thought he meant. "I'd rather go with you tonight."

His thumb brushed her lips with a gentle caress, then his lips followed its way, too.

"Will you stay with me? For the holiday." His voice seemed to waver slightly in mid-sentence.

"Of course." She swept her thumb across the ring on his finger. "I can bake you gingerbread."

"I don't expect you to do anything. Just stay."

"No, it'll be fun. We could bake something together, make some decorations – or go for a walk. The city looks so magnificent at this time of the year."

"You're so beautiful," he said, breathing a kiss to her temple. "Your eyes are shining when you're just talking about it."

"I've always loved Christmas. It's so cozy." She slid her fingers into his hair, pulling him down for a kiss to his cheek and he let out an almost inaudible sigh. "And warm and colorful… I didn't want you to be left out of it, especially not this year."

"What is it that's so special about this year?"

"My assumption that you're a real man instead of an angel has been finally confirmed," she smiled, keeping his hand pressed to her cheek when he wanted to pull it back. "How could you bear to be so close to me for years without ever a try to approach me?"

"It was still better than being completely without you. I've never thought you could love me after you saw me. Or especially if you knew about the rest," he added quietly.

Her eyes stung all of a sudden and she pulled him down for a profound kiss. "But I love you."

"Yes, I know now," he whispered. "I love you, too."

\- o -

Morning came earlier than expected and Madame Giry turned in her bed with a yawn. It was the very first day of the winter holiday; sleeping a little longer would certainly not occur to anyone.

As she opened her eyes to check the time, though, some unfitting object caught her attention on the floor: right in front of the door lay a white envelope.

Sleeping now forgotten, she folded back the edge of her blanket and hurried to the door, regretting immediately that she forwent the slippers in her haste. There was no sender's name, nor anything else for that matter written on the wrapping, and she tore it open quickly as she returned for her gown and slippers. She then sat down at her table and started to read.

_Dear Madame Giry,_

_I hope you will read this letter before Raoul arrives to you to report my absence from his estate. I am sorry if I caused you any distress with my disappearance but I can assure you that I am perfectly well and safe. I am also engaged, and I will be happy to present my future husband to you after the holiday season ended._

_With love,_

_Christine_

With a smile, she immediately reached for pen and paper, then lifted the lid of the inkwell and began to write.

_My dearest Christine and Erik…_


End file.
